


Wicked Eyes and Gentle Hearts

by SeriousMoonlight



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:30:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2742671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeriousMoonlight/pseuds/SeriousMoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the ball at the Winter Palace. Lavellan has a panic attack, Cole helps calm her down. Short and sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Eyes and Gentle Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Lavellan is autistic and I am gay and in love with Cole

Lavellan is too afraid to think straight. There are too many pairs of eyes on her, too many mouths whispering. In spite of the cool night air, her small hands sweat inside the fabric of her formal gloves as she takes shaking steps toward the Winter Palace. She has to be so much, has to be perfect, has to play a game she doesn't know the rules to, stumbling around in the dark. Just go inside, meet up with Solas and the others, you’ll be okay, don’t listen - 

"Is that the Inquisitor?"

"An _elf savage_? I should think not! This must be Gaspard's idea of a joke."

 _Elf savage_. The words catch and stick in her ears (her too big, too sharp ears) and her head whips towards the voices, stopping in her tracks. The fury that bubbles up in her is instantaneous, hot in her chest, and Lavellan has to bite her lip hard to stop herself from giving the loudmouth shem a piece of her mind. No, she can't, she has to be good. Has to be perfect. For the Inquisition. As she keeps moving, she knows her steps are too fast to look relaxed, knows every motion she makes is being scrutinized. Get inside. Find the others. _Elf savage_. Breathe. Smile.

A noblewoman in the courtyard calls her "rabbit" and the Inquisitor finds the expensive ring she'd dropped and, making sure no one is looking, throws it as hard as she can over the garden wall. She starts to feel bad about it until someone loudly complains - while glaring at her - about the "knife-eared serving staff" not bringing out drinks fast enough. The guilt vanishes, but not fully. Never fully.

Josephine is better at hiding, but Lavellan knows she's nervous too. Be brave. There's so much at stake. Do you want to disappoint everyone? Make their hard work be for nothing? They walk in together, and, listen, Lavellan, what you say is a matter of life and death, and are you ready to make your grand entrance?

“A _Dalish_?” The words cut right through her concentration on Josephine. She can hear the disgust dripping off the man's voice in thick rivulets and she needs to **go, right now**. She stumbles out an excuse to Josephine and all but runs down the hall, turns into an empty corridor, and crouches, trying to breathe with her hands gripped tightly in her black hair.

Stop. Stop. The tears are hot, stinging behind her eyes, and Lavellan knows she can't afford to be like this, but they won't stop! The face of the Inquisition has to be perfect, not yelling, not crying, not an elf --

Cole's hand is gentle on her shoulder, and Lavellan suddenly realizes how hard her entire body is shaking. She opens her eyes and looks up at him, watching him crouch down in front of her. Seeing him without his hat on is jarring enough to actually startle her out of crying for a few seconds. "I'm here," he says softly, and she doesn't need to be prompted to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his chest.

For a little bit they sit there in silence as Cole gently strokes her back while her breathing steadies. "They say those things because they're scared," he says, "They know how important and strong you are, and they want to make you feel small and weak. But you’re not." He squeezes her a little tighter, closing his blue eyes. "The words hurt, but you're not what they say you are. You are Dalish, delightful, dashing, _always_ , and you are not the other words." Cole’s voice is soothing and rhythmic, and the pressure from his arms helps ground her, keep her calm. Before long, Lavellan is wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks, quivering, bitten lip replaced with a small smile.

"I'm still scared," she admits as Cole helps her stand up again. "All those people in the ballroom watching me... it makes me want to run away. I know I can't, but..."

Cole looks thoughtful for a few moments before taking her hands in his. "I'll come with you," he offers, and before she can protest he clarifies, "No one else will be able to see me. Just you. So you won’t be alone." He grips her hands firmly, looks into her eyes for just a split second. "Will... that help?" he asks, his voice hopeful.

Lavellan hugs him again, a different variety of tears threatening to come out now. "You _always_ help," she whispers.


End file.
